Of Creampuffs and Chocolate Cake
by Die Einzelganger
Summary: Protectshipping ficlet originally written for Valentine's Day, inspired by a friend's idea. Tristan tries to bake Ryou a cake, and I try my hand at this pairing, romance and fluff. Enjoy!


_**Of Creampuffs and Chocolate Cake**_

by Die Einzelgänger

Valentine's Day was just around the corner.

It was to be their first, and Tristan wanted it to be special. He was a hopeless romantic, a man of sweet, sweeping gestures, and he wanted to give Ryou something money couldn't buy. Something warm and heartfelt and cozy that his Creampuff wouldn't expect at all. And so, after some deliberation, Tristan settled on baking him a cake from scratch. A chocolate cake. Ryou once joked that his hair looked like a slice, and Tristan just huffed and shrugged it off, but the idea lodged itself too deeply in his mind to pry out, and in a way, it seemed very fitting that his gift should be reminiscent of him.

He knew that it wasn't Ryou's _absolute_ favorite thing. Ryou loved creampuffs the most, but Tristan took him out for creampuffs every Sunday, whether it rained or snowed, and on the few occasions Ryou was at home sick, trembling with a fever and wrapped in blankets for warmth, Tristan went out while he was sleeping and bought him a couple of creampuffs anyway, just to reassure him that Sunday would always be his day. And so creampuffs remained the Sunday special, a tradition of sorts that Tristan had kept since their first date (which Ryou gently coaxed him into, helping him with that first step so Tristan could take the rest), and they were both content to keep it that way.

Besides, Tristan had never baked anything in his life before. Oh, sure, he had helped Ryou wash, rinse, peel and chop whatever he needed, and he always did the dishes afterwards, but he never actively engaged in the art of cooking or baking himself, and he had a sneaking suspicion that he would never manage something as pretty and delicate as a creampuff, while a chocolate cake (just some batter poured into a tin, baked, and later covered in oodles of chocolate icing) didn't seem half so daunting. Tristan was a smart guy. He could follow recipe instructions just as well as the next person. How hard could it be?

And so he began to prepare for the big day as discreetly as possible. Since his gift was to be a cake, he felt that the only good way to "wrap" such a present would be a nice cake stand, preferably one with a dome, and so he bought one made of glass and stashed it on the highest shelf in the closet, knowing that Ryou wouldn't bother climbing up for anything, having someone taller at his disposal to do all the climbing and reaching for him. He then searched the Internet for the perfect recipe – something simple but dense and moist, something you could sink your teeth into –, and eventually, he found one that sounded like just the thing: a slightly simplified devil's food cake. Despite the name, everything about it (the photograph, the description, the ingredients and the fairly easy-to-follow instructions) told him that it would taste like heaven. He was practically salivating by the time he read the whole thing, and that was indication enough that he had found the perfect cake. And since only the best ingredients make a perfect cake, he went on a rogue shopping spree and bought some quality chocolate, vanilla extract and muscovado sugar, all of which then joined the cake stand in its high hiding place, where Tristan eyed them with silent pride, the picture so perfect in his head. He would whip up the cake batter and icing in no time, clean up while the cake was baking, then assemble it and transfer it to the cake stand before Ryou came home, and once his Creampuff was home, he would sit him down on the couch by the coffee table to serve him some coffee, and then he would carry his creation proud and aloft into the living room for him to see, making Ryou wide-eyed with surprise and setting his face aglow. Tristan was grinning from ear to ear by the time he got to the next part of the story, in which Ryou would eat a slice, then another perhaps, and then they would settle down anywhere he wanted so Tristan could make his night as well as his evening. It seemed almost _too_ good, _too_ perfect, but Tristan was a confident man, and by the time Tuesday rolled around, he could hardly contain his excitement to put his plan into motion. He kissed Ryou on the forehead as he left for work (_See you later, Creampuff_), and once he had the house and the kitchen all to himself, Tristan whipped out the recipe and got to work.

Unfortunately, that was the point where his picture perfect dream scenario started to come apart at the seams. Gathering and measuring all the ingredients alone was fussy and took much more time than he had anticipated – he thought it would make his job easier if he measured everything out beforehand, but in reality, all it did was give him more dirty dishes to wash later, and Tristan was pathetically behind schedule by the time he had even finished slapping together the cake batter, whisking and scraping ferociously and getting freckles of butter and cocoa sludge on the sleeves of his shirt. He quickly divided the batter into the prepared cake tins (he could have done a better job lining them with baking parchment, but it was too late to think about that now), shoved both in the oven, and then started on the icing, thinking that the baking time would be enough for it to thicken.

Again, he miscalculated. The icing just wouldn't thicken, and though he could have used the time he spent waiting and worrying over it to wash the dishes, Tristan was too occupied with his concerns about the almost liquid consistency of the icing to remember his original schedule. He kept carefully stirring and whisking, hoping it would help, for almost thirty minutes (Ryou was now dangerously close to home), but the icing only began showing any promise of thickening once the oven clock rerolled itself to zero with a happy ping noise, telling him that the cakes were ready.

By that time, Tristan was starting to grow agitated. He hadn't even tasted the batter because he immediately chucked most of the dirty bowls and dishes into the sink after using them, and there was no way he would cut into the cake now and ruin its nice, round shape, because he was getting worried that perhaps that was _all_ his cake had going for it – that it still looked the part of a chocolate cake, despite however it might taste once it was done. The icing itself was really good (he allowed himself a small lick of the spatula, and then had to stop himself from practically slurping the semi-liquid icing straight from the bowl), even if it wasn't as spreadable as he thought it would be, and so he hoped that the icing would be enough to salvage his project as he took the dome off the cake stand, took out the first tin from the oven (nearly burning his fingers because he was fumbling with the kitchen towels), and proceeded to pry the still hot cake off the parchment to place it on the stand.

He should have known that cooking show people were far better equipped to do this than he was – or they simply reconciled themselves to the fact that leaving the tin base under the cake wasn't a capital sin. Tristan, however, was a perfectionist, a perfectionist running short on time, and he was too anxious to think as he grabbed the cake and lifted it towards the stand – only to have it crack in the middle and come apart the next moment, one half drooping sadly from each clasping hand.

And still Tristan tried not to panic. He quickly set both halves on the cake stand, used his spatula to glue them together with some icing, and then started slathering them thickly, hoping to conceal the blemish, and in his hurry, he might have wasted most of the icing on just that bottom half, had it not been for the sharp jingle of Ryou's keys in the lock, the noise so sudden it made Tristan break out in a sweat._ Oh God_, he thought, his eyes darting about frantically. Ryou was home, and he was not even _near _ready yet…

Tristan quickly shut the door, leaning against it, and now that he was facing the kitchen, he could take finally it just how much of a disaster his baking project turned out to be. The counters were a _mess._ Trash and smudges everywhere: used butter wraps, shreds of baking parchment he tore or cut off to line the tins, blots of cake batter where his heavy whisking caused the bowl to spill and splatter, and measuring spoons and dirty dishes as far as the eye could see. And the cake… the cake just stood (sprawled) on the stand looking like a huge clump of oozing icing.

"'allo! Anybody home?" came that light, soft voice from the hallway, and Tristan was beginning to panic in earnest.

"Hey, Creampuff!" he called out to Ryou, and opened the kitchen door slightly to peek out. "I'm a little busy here – that loose cupboard door you wanted me to fix?" he said without thinking. "I'm still working on it – why don't you rest a little and I'll be out soon, okay?"

And with that, he closed the door again, with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, and rushed to the oven to pull out the second tin. _There is still some time left,_ he told himself. It should be enough… all he has to do is-

He nearly howled out in pain as his bare fingers clamped on the still piping hot cake tin, and whipped his hands away so fiercely that the tin toppled right out, and Tristan could only watch in horror as the moist, doughy disk split into pieces and scattered on the open oven door.

"Are you alright in there?" asked Ryou from outside.

"I'm _fine!_" yelled Tristan, rinsing his aching fingers under the tap, bathing them in icy water and trying desperately to stay calm. He could still fix it… all he has to do is glue it back together… there's enough icing left, right?

No, no there wasn't, but Tristan only realized that once he had pressed all the pieces on top of the sticky bottom half, a thin coating of icing holding them together. He could just about manage a thin layer on top and a shadow of a coat on the sides, and that was it, and in the end, his cake looked nothing like the perfect present he wanted it to be. It looked more like a chocolate cake that had gone through cake war and was never the same again, and once it dawned on Tristan that he couldn't give his Creampuff _this_ – that _this _was beyond all his efforts to fix in what little time might be left before Ryou grew tired of waiting for him on Valentine's Day –, he did the only thing he could think of, and quickly darted out of the kitchen, slamming the door firmly shut behind him.

"I need some more things from the hardware store!" he called out to Ryou. "I'll be right back! Just stay put and wait for me, alright?" and before Ryou could so much as say a word, Tristan rushed outside as he was – in a shirt with dirty sleeves in the middle of chilly February – and ran across town, completely forgetting about his motorcycle, to find a cake shop. He was determined to buy Ryou the largest batch of creampuffs he had ever seen, to somehow compensate for his utter inability to bake him anything worth even looking at… but when he finally did find a cake shop, he had to discover, to his eternal shame, that he forgot his wallet.

Had he paused for just one minute outside the kitchen door, he might have remembered to grab his coat, the wallet still in its pocket because he forgot to take it out and slip it back into his pants pocket the other day. Had he done that, he could have bought the entire supply of creampuffs in this store and all would have been fixed. But he didn't, because he was an idiot, an idiot who was now freezing and tired because he had spent the whole afternoon fretting over a cake that turned out to be the worst possible idea he could have come up with. Even fixing that damn cupboard door would have been a nicer surprise, and now that Ryou was expecting to find it near fixed, Tristan felt even worse for letting him down _today_ of all days. Some say that Valentine's Day is a stupid holiday, but Tristan was not one of them, and the idea that he was failing to make it worth celebrating made him red with shame and anger.

But there was nothing to be done. He was an idiot and forgot his wallet, and so he walked home, tired and defeated, his pace sluggish even though he was chilled to the bone. Ryou was very sweet-tempered with him, always, and he knew he wouldn't so much as raise his voice over it, but the thing was that he didn't _need_ to. Just one look from him was plenty, one look of mild disappointment, and Tristan would feel the full weight of it instantly. The mere thought of those large brown eyes was enough to stop him before the door, but after a few more minutes of standing outside and finally realizing that he was going to freeze to the porch unless he moved, Tristan took a deep breath and tried to slip in as quietly as he could.

He wasn't quiet enough. Not for Ryou. Once he opened the door and crossed the threshold, all he could see for a second was a flash of white as Ryou pounced him, all but knocking the wind out of him as two arms wrapped around his back and a hand clenched onto his shirt tightly, the other not touching him just yet, and Tristan felt Ryou's lips against his cheek, warm and moist… and slightly _grainy._

When Ryou drew back, Tristan snorted in surprise. His mouth was smudged with chocolate icing, some of it now smeared across Tristan's cheek where he kissed him, and uncurling one arm, Ryou showed him what stopped him from clasping both hands on his back: a huge chunk of chocolate cake, crumbling and thick with icing, melting and luscious between his Creampuff's fingers.

"Did you make this?" asked Ryou, his voice hungry and yearning.

"Yeah…" uttered Tristan, his shoulders stiffening defensively. "Yeah." Ryou gave him a grin.

"It's the best chocolate cake I've ever had," he said, and he offered his handful for Tristan to sample, who bit down on it hesitantly, and then stared at Ryou wide-eyed. It really _was _good. It might have fallen apart and the layers were ridiculously uneven, but it still tasted like heaven, and Tristan took another bite, the two of them locked in a longing stare.

"Come on," urged Ryou, pressing against his back with his other arm to usher him further in. "I want some more, and then I want some of _you._"

Tristan laughed, breathy and relieved, and let himself be ushered towards the kitchen, back to the mess he made, the cake that Ryou neatly cut up and already had two slices of (including the one he snatched up when he heard the key rasp against the lock), and two cups of coffee, and when the sun rose, they were still there, collapsed into each other's arms on the floor, and all Tristan could think of as he held Ryou close and rubbed softly at his back was that there weren't enough days in a year to celebrate just how great his life was right now… and that he really, really needs to learn how to bake.


End file.
